


Runnin' Just in Case

by CoffeeBean_1207



Category: The Walking Dead & Related Fandoms, The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: F/M, The Walking Dead Season 4, canon correction, this is how it should have happened
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-19
Updated: 2020-04-19
Packaged: 2021-02-22 23:44:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23735665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CoffeeBean_1207/pseuds/CoffeeBean_1207
Summary: "It ain't love that I'm chasingBut I'm runnin' just in case."- Runnin' Just in Case, Miranda Lambert***SPOILERS FOR S4, E5After Rick leaves her behind, Carol goes to drown her sorrows. But she didn't count on Daryl being stupid enough to come after her.
Relationships: Daryl Dixon & Carol Peletier, Daryl Dixon/Carol Peletier
Comments: 10
Kudos: 33





	Runnin' Just in Case

Carol rummaged behind the bar, cursing quietly as the bottles clinked together, the scrape and tinkle of glass too loud in the silence. She froze, her hand on her knife, waiting for the moans, the thump and slide of stumbling footsteps, the snapping of teeth. But there was nothing. 

Exhaling, she found a bottle of whiskey that was still half full and pulled it out carefully, trying not to hit the others. She stepped absentmindedly over a body slumped behind the bar and took a seat, raising the bottle to her lips. The booze was strong and it burned its way down her throat as Carol swallowed, her face contorting. It had been a long time since she’d had a drink. 

Compulsively, she glanced at the door. She’d barricaded it shut, sliding a table across it and sticking a chair under the handle, but it was better safe than sorry. If she got half as drunk as she meant to, she wouldn’t be much good if any walkers got in here. She knew it was stupid, that she should keep moving, keep her eye on the ball, focus on keeping herself alive. And she would. Tomorrow. Today, she had to mourn.

There was another body slumped by the opposite wall. Human when he’d gone, by the looks of him, but he’d been dead so long it was hard to tell. Carol turned her back on him. Wasn’t any harm in him, not any more. The bar was the old school type, all dark wood and saloon doors, and Carol looked around her appreciatively as she drank, taking in the pictures on the walls in the late afternoon sun, dimmed by the curtains over the windows. But she was just avoiding the issue, trying not to think about it. The fact that she was all alone. No family left. No friends. She could wander out there right now and get herself bit and there wouldn’t be a soul in the world that knew.

She hadn’t stopped to watch Rick leave; just got in the car he’d given her and hit the road. No point in waiting around, in going after him and begging him to change his mind. He hadn’t killed her. Hadn’t told Tyreese and let him kill her. He’d even given her a car and enough supplies to keep her going for a few days, so she supposed she should be grateful. She took another mouthful of whiskey. Gratitude was hard to come by right now. 

Standing, she went over to the man slumped on the floor and leaned over him, patting down his pockets. 

“Aha,” she said, softly, pulling a half pack of smokes and a handful of quarters out of his jacket. Now that there was something she could be grateful for. She dropped the change, wouldn’t do any good anymore, and took the cigarettes back to her seat. There was a book of matches, the kind that comes free in bars and motels, among the debris on the floor and Carol scooped it up, striking one. The flare of the match was startlingly bright in the gloom and she blinked spots out of her eyes, lighting up hastily before blowing it out. Reaching for her knife, she unsheathed it and waited. Just in case. She’d killed a few walkers on her way in, but this part of town had thankfully been pretty quiet. But that didn’t mean she didn’t have to be careful. 

Carol listened. She could hear a soft moan from outside, one stray walker was nothing to worry about, but there was something else, too. A low rumble in the distance, a bike by the sounds of things. Her heart picked up. Either she was about to meet the locals, or he was more stupid than she’d thought.

Grabbing the whiskey, Carol ducked behind the bar, pulling her gun from the pocket of her jacket. People, in her experience, were not always all that friendly, and by this point she reckoned she was better off on her own. At least for a while. At least until the winter rolled around again. But the rumble was getting closer and when it stopped, she found herself hoping. Hoping it was him. Hoping it was someone. The moan from outside the door became more urgent, a snarl and a grunt, as it caught scent of something it wanted. Something living. 

Carol watched in the mirrored bar back as its shadow staggered away, leaving nothing behind the thin curtain that covered the window set into the bar door. She held her breath, waiting for the sound of gun shots, of screams. Maybe both. But there was nothing but more snarls as a few more stragglers caught scent of whoever it was outside. 

“Come on,” she murmured, her knuckles white around the hilt of her knife, her eyes fixed on the door’s reflection in the glass above her head. “Come on.” 

Sitting there in a dark bar, surrounded by death and decay and dirt, Carol found she didn’t want to be alone.

***

Daryl pulled his knife free from the walker’s skull, letting the body fall to the floor with a wet thud. There was another one a little way ahead, but thankfully the street was almost dead. This close to the Greene farm he’d expected things to be overrun, but the herd must have moved on over the winter. 

Raising his crossbow, he released an arrow, taking out the other walker with little more fuss than a whistle and a thud. He scanned the street but there weren’t any more just yet. And no sign of Carol, either. Cursing, he threw his crossbow over his shoulder, crouching near the line of buildings and making his way further into the middle of town. This was the first place that he’d thought to look. She couldn’t have gone far. She’d only had a day’s head start and they’d spent all winter picking clean the smaller stores and houses between the old Greene place and the prison. He was going to find her. He had to.

“Carol,” he hissed, his voice raised as loud as he dared. “Carol, you there?”

Silence. The sound of his pulse rushing in his ears, Daryl pressed forwards, edging towards the corner of the nearest building. It was some kind of bar and he leaned around the side, coming face to face with a walker coming the other way. It snarled, clutching at him and he reeled back, stabbing it in the head as it lunged towards him again. He tugged his knife free, ducking behind a car as a few others in the street caught sight of the movement. A clean car, he realized, watching a walker stagger towards him through the wiped down windshield. He stepped out, taking it out with his knife before ducking for cover again.

“Carol,” he said again. “Carol, you hear me?”

A hand touched his shoulder and he wheeled round, knife raised, freezing when he saw who it was. It wasn’t a walker. It was her. Carol motioned towards the bar, the door ajar behind her, not taking her eyes off the other walkers in the street. They were alert, listening, heads inclined towards them and Carol edged backwards slowly, waving for Daryl to follow. She didn’t need to tell him twice.

***

Carol closed the door to the bar behind them. She held up a hand, signaling to Daryl to stay quiet, and pulled back the thin curtain over the window and peering into the street. The couple of walkers that were left had lost interest, not noticing anything obvious, and began to wander off. Satisfied, she turned her attention back to the man in front of her. You found me, she thought. You came. 

“What are you doing here?” she said, her voice hard. 

“What do you think?”

“You shouldn’t have come.”

Daryl looked away, taking his crossbow off his shoulder, resting it on the bar. “I had to.”

Carol turned, pushing the table back into place across the door. He moved as if to help her, but she waved him back. “I got it.” 

He took the other end anyway and together they shoved it into place, barricading themselves inside. Carol straightened up, and they stood, looking at each other. “You gonna say something?” she asked, finally. 

“Did you do it?”

“Yeah,” she said, her chin raised. “Yeah, I did it.”

Daryl turned away, scrubbing a hand over his face. Carol watched him, her chest tight, nauseous with regret and shame. Finally, he looked at her. “Why?”

“I really… I really thought I could stop it. That if I k—” she stopped abruptly, tears blurring her vision. She blinked once, hard. “If I killed them, if I burned the bodies, I could stop it from spreading. Save Mika and Lizzie, save Carl and Judith and…” She turned away, heading back towards her seat at the bar but he caught her arm, pulling her towards him. “Don’t touch me,” Carol snapped, shaking him off. “Just… just don’t.”

Daryl let go, watching her as she retrieved her whiskey from the floor. She fished out a couple of glasses from under the bar and poured a generous measure into each, sliding one towards him. Daryl took it. 

“You should have that and go,” said Carol. “It’s getting late. You’ll be wanting to get back.”

“I’m not leaving without you.”

Carol let out a dry bark of laughter. “What’re you gonna do, Daryl? Ride on in there with me on the back of your bike and act like everything is fine?”

He looked away, taking a mouthful of his drink. “I can’t leave you here.”

“You can. I’m fine.” She turned her back on him, sitting on the stool she’d been sitting at before. Picking up the abandoned packet of cigarettes she pulled one out, putting it in her mouth. The scrape of wood on tile was loud in the silence as Daryl picked up another stool from the floor, setting it down next to hers. She held out the packet of cigarettes and he took one, pulling a zippo out of his jacket. “I can’t believe you still carry that thing.”

Daryl just grunted. Carol watched him as he flicked open the lighter with practiced fingers. He took a deep drag, the tip of his cigarette illuminating in the gathering dark. “Come ‘ere,” he said, holding the lighter out to light up for her but she looked away, taking the matchbook out of her pocket. She turned it over in her hands before taking one out and striking it, lighting her cigarette before tossing it away. 

“How’d you know where to find me?”

He shrugged. “Figured you’d head to a town, stock up. We picked clean all ‘round the prison, this is the next nearest place we know there might still be supplies. And…” he paused, swilling the whiskey around the bottom of his glass.

“What?”

“I thought about where I’d go. If I wanted to be found, if I thought someone might come looking.”

Carol stiffened, looking away. “I didn’t think anyone would be dumb enough to try.” She could see him looking at her in her peripheral vision and she stared resolutely into the bottom of her glass, determined not to meet his gaze. 

“I ain’t a dog, Carol,” he said. “You can’t throw rocks at me and hope I run off.” 

“You need to go.”

“Not without you.”

“Do you ever wonder what would have happened to you if… if the world hadn’t ended?”

Daryl took a deep drag on his cigarette, accepting her attempt to change the subject. “Jail,” he said. “Sooner or later. Merle woulda gotten us into some kinda trouble and we’d have ended up booked or killed. Prob’ly over something stupid.” 

Carol nodded. “I’d still be with Ed, looking up how to put my own shoulder back into joint on the internet.” She looked down at her drink. “I’d still have Sophia. You’d still have your brother.” Daryl didn’t say anything. He just waited. Carol took a mouthful of whiskey, buying herself time. Untangling her thoughts. “I’d probably never have met you.”

“Prob’ly not.”

She stood, stubbing out the last of her cigarette on the wood of the bar, and wandered over to the jukebox, whiskey glass still in hand. It was caked in a couple of years’ worth of grime and she poked at the buttons, but nothing happened. Daryl got up, stepping towards her and Carol just stood, frozen in place, watching him approach, letting him take the glass from her hand and put it on a table beside them. “Won’t work without quarters.”

“Or power.”

“Or power,” he repeated, nodding.

“Why, were you gonna dance with me, Daryl Dixon?”

He snorted. “I don’t dance.”

“Not even with me?”

Daryl met her gaze. He was standing close enough that she could have reached out and touched him. Carol balled her hands into fists at her sides. “Maybe with you,” he said, finally. 

Carol could feel the color rising in her face and she looked away. God, she wished he hadn’t come. “There’s this bit in A Room of One’s Own,” she said, turning her back on him, unable to meet his eye. “Where Virginia Woolf is sitting there at some dinner party or other, and this fella is humming. And she looks at him and she wonders, what song did he hum before the war? What songs did she hum back then? And it’s like… there’s this whole you that had thoughts and feelings and favorite songs. And they don’t exist anymore.” She turned, raising her eyes to his. “You know, Taylor Swift is probably dead.” 

Daryl nodded. “Probably.”

“Miranda Lambert, too.”

“Never had you pegged as a county fan, Carol.”

She laughed, it just came out, but then she remembered herself and stopped abruptly, the sound dying in her throat. “That Carol’s gone, you know? I think she was in the barn that day back on Hershal’s farm—” she broke off, inhaling shakily. “I don’t hum those songs anymore.”

“What you did, Carol... that ain’t you.”

She turned to face him. “But it is, Daryl. Don’t you see? It is me. I saw a threat to the people I loved and I tried to do something about it. And I...” she swallowed, forcing herself to look at him. “I shouldered that. I took that burden. It was me. And I wish to God that I hadn’t done it, but I would be lying if I said I wouldn’t do it again. ‘Cause if I thought for a second that it could have stopped everything that happened at the prison, prevented all that death, I would.” 

Carol reached for her drink and downed the last of it in one, passing the glass compulsively between her hands. “What kind of songs do you think someone like that hums, hm?” 

“I dunno,” he said softly, looking away. 

“I killed them both, Daryl. Karen and David. You’ve gotta accept that.” 

“No. I don’t.”

“You’ve finished your drink,” she said.

“Yeah.”

“You should get moving. It’ll be dark soon, they’ll be worrying.”

“Let ‘em.”

“They need you, Daryl. They look to you, Rick needs you.” 

“And what about you, huh?”

Carol looked away. “I’ll live.” 

“You—“ Daryl cleared his throat. “You saw me, Carol. They see me now, but you saw me first.” 

“And what, finders’ keepers? I needed you then. You did so much for... for my little girl. But I don’t need you anymore, Daryl. I’m not afraid to be alone.”

“Don’t mean you have to be.”

Carol swallowed, blinking hard. “So, what, you come with me? Leave them behind? We can’t go home, not together. You know Rick won’t have me back. He was right, Tyreese would kill me.”

“I’ll talk to him. To both of ‘em.” 

“Daryl,” Carol snapped. “Listen to yourself—“

“No, you listen to me. I came here to work this shit out. Rick didn’t even let me talk to you before shipping you off like he was judge and fucking jury—“ 

“Daryl—“ 

“I know you, Carol. You ain’t no killer.” 

“I did it, Daryl—“

“Why?” he said, his voice raised. “You dumb fucking bitch. What did you think would happen, huh? That no one would fucking notice?”

“Of course not—“ 

“You knew. You knew you’d get found out. Did you even think about Lizzie and Mika, what they would do without you? Did you think about me—?” He broke off, breathing heavily, turning away. “I don’t need you, Carol. But I want you. I want you around. Did you think about any of that before you stuck a knife in their fucking skulls?”

“I did.” Carol hated the pleading tone in her voice. She was stronger than this. This wasn’t her anymore. “But more than that, I wanted you alive. All of you. Daryl, I would do anything, anything, to keep you all safe.” 

“That’s not good enough.”

“Then what is?” she was shouting now, all her rage and frustration and fear tumbling out of her mouth and she couldn’t stop it. “Should I have been cooking hog roast and planting flowers and pretending everything was okay while everyone fucking died?”

“They were in isolation.” Daryl’s voice rose to join hers.

“They were a time bomb,” Carol spat, jabbing a finger into Daryl’s chest. “That flu would have killed us all while Rick was busy playing fucking farmer.”

“Lori died—“

“Yeah, and so did Sophia. And T-Dog. And Dale. And Merle. We’ve all lost people, so many people, but we carried on. Losing it is a luxury we can’t afford. Not anymore.”

He stared at her, his rage and frustration clear on his face. “You’re comin’ and you’re comin’ now.”

“No, Daryl. I’m not.”

He opened his mouth to reply when a loud banging against the window made them both jump. Carol hit the floor, grabbing Daryl’s hand and pulling him down next to her. The banging multiplied, first one pair of hands, then another, then more, as walkers began to pile against the window of the bar. 

“Shit,” she muttered.

“Must’ve heard us.”

“How many?”

Daryl shot her a look. “I look psychic to you?”

“Shut up.”

They stopped, listening. It was impossible to tell. The thump of hands became thunderous, overlaid against the unmistakable sound of splintering glass.

“We’ve gotta move,” Daryl said, taking Carol by the elbow and hauling her to her feet. He ran, grabbing his crossbow from the bar just as the window began to give way, walkers surging forwards, snagging on the glass and splintered wood. The window was high, and they stumbled, hitting the sill at waist height, slowing them down. Daryl turned, gesturing towards the back. “Run!”

Carol pulled her knife from her belt, running through the bar to the back door with Daryl on her heels. The snarling and snapping of the walkers behind them became white noise, her mind focusing to what was in front of her. Get to the door. Get to Daryl’s bike. Get the hell out of dodge. 

The storeroom was dark, but had been clear when she checked it earlier, just the body of some drifter or other, half eaten on the floor. The back door had been left open, but she’d closed it behind her, and now they could hear the scrape of hands against the other side. Daryl closed the door between them and the bar, wedging his shoulder against it as the handle began to rattle, the walkers trying to follow. “How many?”

Carol put her ear to the wood of the door out to the street, listening. “Two? Not many. We can take ‘em.”

“No choice.”

Carol nodded, holding her knife ready as she opened the door a crack, pressing herself against it as the walker tried to shove its way inside. She shoved the blade into its forehead, pulling her knife free and opening the door wider. A second walker tried to push its way through the gap and Carol killed it, peering outside. The clamor at the front of the bar was drawing more of them, walkers stumbling from side streets and other stores to join the crowd. If they were quick, if they were quiet, they could get out.

Carol gestured to Daryl, motioning for him to follow. He pointed at the door behind him. “Run,” Carol mouthed, opening the door wider, clearing the way. He nodded. No choice but to make a break for it.

As soon as Daryl moved the door behind him was forced open, walkers trampling over each other in an attempt to push through the narrow space. They ran out onto the street, Daryl taking Carol by the elbow and pulling her in the direction of his bike. The walkers began to spill out of the bar behind them, but they just ran. They had better odds of outrunning them than taking out a group that size.

Daryl raised his crossbow, shooting a walker who was loitering near his bike, and threw his leg over, turning the keys. “Come on.”

Carol got on the back, locking her arms around his waist as he pulled away, leaving the group of walkers trailing far behind them. She exhaled shakily, the adrenalin coursing through her, and she rested her head on Daryl’s back, solid and warm underneath the leather of his jacket. The whiskey warmed her as they flew along the highway, the world soft around the edges, and Carol closed her eyes, listening to the rumble of the bike and the beat of Daryl’s heart under her cheek. Alive. They were alive.

***

The heard the gunshots before they arrived, saw the smoke rising from the guard tower, the boom as God only knows what hit the masonry, blowing chunks of brick and concrete into the courtyard below. A cry escaped Carol’s mouth as she realized where the noise was coming from, her heart constricting in her chest. Everyone she loved, everything she had fought so hard to protect reduced to dust and rubble. 

Daryl swore, speeding up, swerving to avoid walkers who were spilling out of the woods, drawn to the noise. Carol pulled out her gun, taking one out as it lunged towards them.

“Save it,” Daryl yelled over the noise. “We’ll need the bullets.”

There were cars scattered around the entrance to the prison and they abandoned the bike, running into the fray. It was chaos, walkers everywhere, bodies underneath their feet. Bodies of people that, for the most part, Carol didn’t recognize. “A siege?”

“Don’t matter. We gotta find everyone.” 

“Daryl, it’s Tyreese,” Carol grabbed his arm, pulling him in the direction of the tree line. She could see Tyreese running into the woods, Lizzie and Mika at his back. Carol started after them when a scream came from behind them. They both span around to see Beth, walkers on her heels, raising her gun. She shot but nothing happened. Out of ammo.

Daryl looked at her, his face contorted. “Carol, I’ve got to—”

“I know.”

“Go.” 

Carol took his face in her hands, pressing her lips against his. She closed her eyes against tears she couldn’t afford as he pulled her against him.

“I’ll find you,” he said, his voice low as he rested his forehead against hers. “I swear, Carol, I’ll find you.”

Carol pulled away, raising her knife and plunging it into the skull of a walker as it reached for him. They were everywhere, drawn to the noise and the screams and the reek of blood. “Go,” she said, taking out another. He reached for her again and she caught his hand, squeezing it fiercely before following Tyreese into the woods, his words echoing in her ears in time with her own pulse.

I’ll find you.

And God, she hoped he was right.


End file.
